


Etiquette

by Windian



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: Day 1- loyalty, Fake Dating, M/M, Tales of Graces Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21744430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windian/pseuds/Windian
Summary: Hubert takes it upon himself to teach his brother the finer staples of etiquette.
Relationships: Asbel Lhant/Hubert Oswell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Etiquette

“The smallest spoon, on your right,” Hubert muttered, from out the corner of his mouth.

“Right, right,” said Asbel. How was he supposed to remember all this? “What the heck is this for then?” he asked Hubert in a muted murmur, putting down with a spoon with a clatter.

Hubert’s eyes dipped closed as he uttered a small prayer for patience. “To core an artichoke,” he said.

“ _Really_?”

His brother had taken upon him to teach Asbel etiquette-- no easy task.

The host- some minor member of the Strahtan nobility, whose name Asbel had already forgotten-- raised a toast. Thank you all for coming to his 50th birthday celebrations, he said, while managing to name-drop all of the important people he knew at the same time. Strahtans seems very good at this.

“I want to thank most of all Ambassador Oswell for the beautiful gift of a rare rockagong scale--” he said.

Hubert lifted his glass and nodded, smiling a tight, thin-lipped smile.

“I appreciate your attendance, Ambassador, especially since you must be incredibly busy with the wedding preparations.”

Hubert was still smiling, but the smile was fixed on his face, like the lips of a wax sculpture.

“What?” Asbel hissed between his teeth. “You didn’t tell me--”

“I’m _not_ ,” Hubert said, the words squeezed out of him like the last bit of toothpaste out of a tube.

As soon as the host’s rambling speech was over, the other attendants fell upon Hubert with their congratulations.

“Thank you,” said Hubert. “But I’m afraid Duke Dufaye was hasty on his congratulations-- I still have no plans to marry the President’s daughter, as I’ve discussed with the President himself.”

“Oh! Well, how disappointing,” said their table-partner, a woman with a mesmerising and terrifying headpiece shaped like a peacock. “Don’t you think so... Lord Asbel, was it?”

“Uh, quite,” said Asbel.

The woman leaned forward. “Ambassador, if I might be so bold--”

“I imagine you might,” said Hubert, dry.

“--You may remember my son, Leon. He’s already a colonel, and is hoping for promotion in the spring. I wondered if perhaps…”

Asbel’s heart leapt.

The portly gentleman on the opposite side of the candelabra had been listening in to the conversation, and added, “Leon is a charming lad. You know, he’s friends with my daughter, Cecilia. She just made her debut. Seven languages, she knows--”

Hubert’s smile was as taught as a strung arrow, ready to be loosed.

Some etiquette this was.

“Wow, it really is too bad Hubert’s already engaged.” Asbel blurted the words without a second thought-- and suddenly realised the whole table had apparently been listening in the conversation-- when all eyes turned on him.

Hubert was glaring daggers. Asbel started sweating. He dabbed at himself with his napkin.

“Um, because, that means he can’t marry any of your sons and daughters.” He laughed, much too loud.

“Who is the lucky person…?” asked the peacock-headed lady.

Hubert opened his mouth, and then closed it.

 _Oh, shit_ , thought Asbel. A rare day that he’d broken his brother.

He took a breath.

“Me. It’s me. Hubert and I are, uh… getting married?” The statement came out more as a question. Hubert looked as though he wanted to kill him.

Eventually, Hubert managed to get Asbel away from the congratulations and the questions to excuse themselves to the bathroom.

“Don’t take too long, boys” the Duke said, with a sly smile.

Hubert shoved him into the unlit bathroom and pinned him against the wall, slamming the door behind him.

“What. Do. You. Think. You’re. Doing?” he asked, the words a hot hiss by Asbel’s ear.

“Sorry, Hubert. I just… wanted to help.”

Hubert released the pincer grip on Asbel’s shoulder. He composed himself, smoothing down the folds in his jacket, sucking in a deep breath.

“Forgive me, brother. That was... unseemly.”

Asbel’s head was pounding. He attempted a laugh. “This will be a funny story to tell later, I guess.”

“Brother, if only.” He turned to Asbel, eyes white and gleaming in the dark. “These people will tell all their friends. All of Strahta will know of our engagement before the sun is set.”

“Oh.”

“I see no other alternative. We will simply have to get married,” said Hubert, with a put-upon sigh. 


End file.
